The good thing about being a lightweight is that you get all the drunkenness with none of the hangover, and I sleep deeply and head to work with a bounce in my step the next morning.

He texted me while I was getting ready for bed last night. Sleep well, Reagan. I look forward to learning more about you tomorrow. Let’s meet at the main bar of the Hotel Savant at 9pm. While I’m waiting for the train, I check out the hotel on my phone. It has an artsy, oriental look with lots of red and black lacquer, and the walls are adorned with black-and-white photographs of sensual couples. The bar, it turns out, is quite famous for Japanese-style cocktails. I feel fizzy with excitement and confusion.

I’m a little vague about what passed between Adler and me last night, but I have the sense that I gave him some kind of consent. And then he kissed me like he was trying to suck my soul out of my body. Like he liked me. Is this a date? Is it a hook-up? I’m not all that experienced with either. I feel completely out of my depth. Not only is Adler the hottest guy I’ve ever kissed in my life, but I have no idea what’s going to happen. At all. We’re just having a drink, I tell myself. We’re just going to get to know each other a little better. In the bar of a hotel that looks like it was made for sin.

All morning, my excitement builds, along with my nerves. At lunchtime, I manage to catch Monica on the phone for ten minutes.

“Ooh, sexy times ahead!” she says when I tell her my news.

“I don’t do things like this, Mon.”

“I knooow!” she says, drawing the word out. “No sex before the fourth date.”

I giggle. “It’s worked for me so far.”

She makes a hmph sound. “That’s not what I’ve heard.”

“My sex life has been okay.”

“Okay is not good enough, Rea.” This is where Monica and I differ. I’ve always gone for guys I like, and the sex has fallen into place afterward, while she was always on a mission to find the perfect sex partner and hoped the romance would work out along the way.

“I’m not sure if I’m ready for this.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Remember that. But be prepared, because it sounds to me like there’s a whole lot you want to do.” It’s true. There is. I’ve been fantasizing so much that I’m surprised I haven’t left a wet mark on my seat.

“He’s so hot,” I murmur. “Like, I don’t even know why he’s into me.”

“Shush. You’re stunning, Rea. Hot enough for any guy.”

I smile into the phone. “You’re such a sweetheart, Monica.”

“It’s true. Now, what are you wearing?”

“I don’t know. Should I go all out, or—”

“Yes!” she interrupts. “Wear your hottest outfit ever.”

“Hold-ups?”

“Garter belt if you have one.”

“Maybe I could buy one on the way home.”

“Good idea. That sheer black bra you got at Burlington’s. Maybe that black dress with the low neck.” I love that we know each other so well that she even knows the contents of my closet.

“Yes, I was thinking of that dress.” It’s clinging, but elegant. The neckline shows a hint of cleavage, and it’s tight around my hips, finishing just above my knee, with a lace panel at the back. It always makes me feel like an old-time movie star.

“And lipstick. It’ll drive him crazy because he’ll be dying to kiss you all night, but won’t be able to.”

“Hmm.”

“Hey, I have to get back to work. But have fun, girl! You deserve it.”

“Thanks, Monica. You’re the best.”

Right after lunch, Jenny and I have a catch-up with Jeremy. She does most of the talking and my gaze keeps flickering in Jeremy’s direction, taking in his strong profile, his erect posture and effortless style. I have such a deep-seated fear that S&M is wrong, dirty, and plain weird. But if an educated, professional and successful man like him is into it, maybe I’m making a huge deal out of nothing.

The rest of the afternoon drags, but at least we finish early on Fridays, and I manage to leave right on five p.m., stop by Burlington’s for a black, minimalist garter belt and stockings, and a new pair of panties—just because—and I’m home, freshly showered, and looking at myself in the mirror by six-thirty p.m. It’s the first time I’ve worn a garter belt, and it feels weird, but hot. Dressed up and naked at the same time. Restricted yet exposed. I eye my reflection as I do a full turn. The bra is the light, skimpy style I like best, no underwire, and my nipples are just visible beneath the gauzy fabric. The panties are similarly sheer. I imagine Adler undressing me, looking at me, and that ache starts up inside me again. Slow down. There’s a long way to go. Against my better judgment, I slick on a sheer red lipstick. I want him to be able to kiss me, but maybe Monica has a point.

Since I’m wearing very high, very pointy-toed pumps, I treat myself to a taxi. Soon, I’m passing through a gilded revolving door and being welcomed by a severely beautiful hostess in a slinky, east-meets-west midnight blue dress, all cheekbones and willowy limbs.

The lobby is stunning, just like the photos, but even more opulent. I swallow down a burst of nerves as the hostess takes my coat and shows me through. I scan the room for him. He’s at the bar in a light gray suit and white shirt, open at the neck, a drink in his right hand, speaking to the bartender. My heart thuds against my rib cage. I’ve taken five steps when that perfect profile angles toward me, and the world seems to stop turning. There’s so much desire and hunger in his eyes that it makes me dizzy. For the first time in my life, I feel like a princess. He watches me approach, a hint of a smile curving his lips, and I feel self-conscious, like I’m on a catwalk. Don’t trip, Lockhart.

“You look beautiful, Reagan,” he says, his voice a little husky. He lays his hands on my waist, draws me close, and kisses me on both cheeks. I can practically feel my pupils dilating as I drink him in. His beard is trimmed more neatly tonight, better displaying the smooth planes of his face, and his messy quiff is neatly brushed back. The open neck of his shirt reveals a hint of his pecs and the beginning of his tattoo. I imagine myself unfastening the rest of those buttons.

He pulls out a stool for me. “Shall we stay at the bar? I think it’s secluded enough here.” We’re sitting right on a corner, out of the bartenders’ earshot.

“Yes,” I reply, grinning like a loon.

“Don’t be nervous.” His voice is as smooth as a caress.

“I’m not.” I reach for the menu, study it for too long before I pick out a Sakura Martini. “Nice place. Very unusual,” I say, once the bartender has taken our order.

“It’s my favorite elegant bar. It’s a very nice boutique hotel as well. Very well equipped.”

“How so?”

“They offer plenty of…equipment. On request.” I’m not about to embarrass myself by asking him what equipment. He means bondage gear, of course. I think of the rooms with the black-and-white nudes and wonder if this is a regular Friday night for him, seducing a girl at the bar, then taking her upstairs to one of the rooms.

The bartender brings our drinks, and I slide what I hope is a covert glance at Adler as he’s sipping his, but he turns his eyes on me, and they’re like headlights. I force myself not to look away. Three or four seconds pass as we continue to hold each other’s gaze, and I feel tingly and breathless, like I have no idea what I’m doing here.

He reaches for my drink. “Let me try it.”

“Sure.”

“Nice. Very savory.”

“I like savory drinks best.”

“Me, too. They’re usually more complex than sweet ones.” I try his drink too, and the atmosphere diffuses. He’s a fun, playful guy again, and we chat about drinks and bars. He even gives me some recommendations for places to go. Normal, everyday conversation, and the tension in my spine releases.

“How was your day?” he asks.

“Thankfully short. It’s been a long week. I was so tired last night when Dom dragged me out to her show.”

“Tired? Uh huh.” He gives me that boyish grin.

“Okay, I admit it. I was a colossal lightweight, and I got drunk on three— no, four—drinks.”

“Would you have messaged me if you hadn’t?”

I pause. “Well, the answer to your question occurred to me after I’d been drinking. So in that case, no, I wouldn’t have.”

“And you might never have discovered the truth about yourself.”

“I’m not so sure that I’ve discovered anything.”

He leans back a little in his seat. “Did you have any more dealings with the boss you mentioned seeing at the Sexpo?”

The abrupt change of subject gives me a mental jolt. “Yes, actually. He’s been giving me a lot of work. But maybe it’s more to keep me quiet than because I’m good at my job.”

“No,” he says, with startling firmness. “Never think that about yourself. You’ve obviously impressed him a lot. I can tell you try your best in everything you do.”

“How can you know that about me?”

“Because I can see your strength. It radiates through you.”

I shake my head. “I’ve got to say I’m a little confused. You seem to be complimenting me for being strong, but you actually want me to be submissive. I don’t get it.”

He reaches out and brushes my hair back from my cheek, tucking it behind my ear, then he leans forward. “It’s all about oppositions. The willing submission of the strong is a much more appealing prospect than that of the weak.”

I shiver at his breath on my ear, at his words.

“Tell me about your childhood.”

I bite my lip. “Why would I tell you that?”

“It’s important for me to understand you, the whole of you.”

I drink, fiddle with the edge of the elegant drink coaster. “I don’t know where to start. It was a regular childhood. Nothing weird happened.”

“How many siblings?”

“Three. I’m the eldest. Cara is two years younger than me, then Frankie and Robbie are seven and ten years younger.”

“And your parents. Are they together?”

“Yup. Happily married, more or less. Do you really want to know this stuff?”

“I do. Are you and Cara close?”

“Yeah, we get on well these days. But we used to fight like cat and dog when we were kids.”

“Why?”

I blow out a long breath. “I blame the parents,” I drawl, dripping my voice with irony. “They were always playing favorites. And it brought out our natural jealousies.”

“And what happened when you fought?”

“I got my ass whupped. A lot.” I laugh, probably too loudly, but he’s looking very interested, leaning forward in his seat. Watching me.

“And the same with your sister?”

“Nope. Just me. She was a lot smaller than me since she was born tiny and premature. I was the naughty one, and she was the cute vulnerable one, and whenever we scrapped, it was me who got put over my parents’ knee, regardless of the fact that she’d been going at it like a hellcat and I’d been holding back with everything I had. I used to hate her in those days. Come to think of it, it was the same at elementary school. I never started any fights, but if another kid started on me or one of my friends, I wouldn’t back down. But because I was taller than the other girls in my class, I was usually the one that got caught and punished. I’d have to stand in a corner or stay back after school.”

“How did that feel?”

“So wrong. I used to burn with the injustice of it.”

“I mean, in your body.”

“Like a red fury. Hot and shaky.

“Is that all?”

“No.” My cheeks warm at a particularly uncomfortable recollection. It was summer, and my sister and I were both in our kid bikinis. I said she could ride my bike if I could play with her scooter. She had a go on my bike, then wouldn’t let me take her scooter. I got mad and slapped her, then she pulled my hair, and we went at each other like a couple of scrapping puppies. My mom came outside, and Cara started squealing like a stuck pig, so mom grabbed me, bent me over her knee, and smacked my ass at least a dozen times. It was all red around my bikini bottoms and halfway down my thighs. And then my uncle and aunt turned up, and everyone laughed at it. I wanted to go change, but mom wouldn’t let me, and all afternoon I felt so horrible and squirmy and humiliated.

“Tell me what you were just thinking about,” he demands.

“No. It’s ridiculous.”

“I’m sure it’s not. From the look on your face, I can tell it had a profound impact on you.”

I shake my head but, slowly, reluctantly, I tell him the story.

“You probably felt like you never wanted to be controlled again?”

I nod. “Yup.”

“And how would it feel if I started to sexually control you?”

“Wrong.” I spin my glass around in my fingertips. I gaze at all the gleaming bottles lined up on the bar, at anywhere but him. “But maybe…hot.” There, I’ve said it now. The heat in my cheeks turns up several notches.

“I think you’d like it a lot, Reagan.” His voice is a big cat’s purr. “And more than that, I think you need it.”

“Why?”

“Because you haven’t been fulfilled in your sexual relationships so far.”

“And how do you know that exactly?” My tone is snappier than I anticipated.

“I can feel it, in every part of you. In your eyes, in your kisses. You’re searching for something.”

“Maybe I’m happy the way I am.”

“Would you be here if you were?”

“I just agreed to meet you here for a drink tonight, nothing more.”

“If that was true, would you be wearing that sexy-as-fuck garter belt?”

I draw a sharp breath in. There’s no way he could’ve seen it beneath my dress. I already checked that it didn’t show through.

“Maybe I wear garter belts every single day.”

His hand comes down on my thigh, right on the spot where the little satin clip meets the top of my stocking. “I don’t think so, Reagan.”

I swallow hard. “Maybe the idea of domination, control, whatever you want to call it, turns me on, but I don’t think it’s something I want to get involved in.”

His eyes narrow, barely perceptibly, his irises dark and stormy. “Why not?”

“I— It—” I break off, not wanting to offend him.

“Go on.”

“The whole idea of it seems kind of weird. Freaky. I don’t have anything in common with those dudes from the Sexpo in gimp masks or diapers. I don’t want to be part of that world.”

To my surprise, he tips his head back and laughs loudly. “Neither do I. The Sexpo wasn’t my idea of fun. Until I met you, anyway. I like to play in the privacy of my own space mostly. And I believe you should try everything once. Except incest and folk dancing, of course.”

“What?” I freeze while I process his words, then burst out laughing. He has a curious way of building tension, then dissolving it when I least expect it.

He shrugs. “I wish I could take credit for that, but it’s one of my friend’s catchphrases. I think it’s good advice, though.”

I stop laughing and stare at him. No one has made me feel so many things at the same time before—I’m intrigued, tense, relaxed, and a little afraid of this insanely attractive guy.

“What if I just want to date you with none of that—that funny stuff?” I say in a rush.

“I’m afraid that ‘funny stuff’ is the only game I like to play. But I have a feeling that once you try it, you’ll wonder how you missed out on it for so long.”

With his left hand still on my thigh, he spins my stool so I’m facing him. His right hand comes down on my left thigh, and he eases them apart a little. I bite back a gasp and test his grip, but it’s firm, and I can’t squeeze them back together. “I think you came here telling yourself we were only going to have a drink, but your body is crying out for me to take you upstairs and possess you.”

Involuntarily, I glance over at the elevators. “So, you’re like a good Samaritan here to help me find fulfillment?”

He cocks a half smile. “Partly.” He jacks my thighs another inch apart, and I’m aware of my panties pressing on my clit. “I won’t deny that I want to fuck you, but it’s not the vanilla sex you’ve had before. I want you helpless. To give yourself to me completely. I want to see the surrender in your eyes and hear it on your lips.”

I gaze at him, unable to get words past my parted lips.

“Hold your hands behind your back.” His voice is almost a growl, and I find myself complying, clasping them together, just above the apex of my ass. This has the effect of thrusting my breasts forward, and I’m very aware of my nipples pushing at the fabric of my bra.

“Close your eyes.”

When I do, I feel open, as exposed as if I was naked. I pick up his scent, his heat, and sense him leaning close.

“Tell me you don’t like this.”

I can’t. All I can think about is how much I want him to slip his hand between my thighs and push my panties aside. And then he kisses the side of my neck, his teeth grazing my skin. Involuntarily, I tip my head back, wanting him to bite my neck all over, take my breasts into his mouth and bite them, too.

As brusquely as he grasped my thighs, he lets them go again and leans back so he’s barely in reach.

“I think the dynamic between us could be on another level, Reagan. But if you’re not ready for what I’ll ask of you, I understand.”

I clear my throat, then sip my drink, noticing that my mouth is dry. “Just to be clear, what are you going to ask of me?”

“That you give me your consent. I’ll never do anything that damages you. But I need your trust for this to work.”

“Is this a game?”

“The best kind.” He lifts his thumb to my lips, and with a smooth stroke, wipes my lipstick right off. And then he kisses me. Hard, hungrily. As if he’s feeding off me. I return his kiss, swirling my tongue around his, tasting him, inhaling his heady scent. It feels like minutes before he pulls away.

“It’s your choice, Reagan. I won’t push you,” he says.

I turn and slide off my seat. “I just need to use the restroom,” I mumble, walking quickly to the other side of the bar, turning my flushed face and smudged mouth from the bar staff.